


Rut Season

by nirejseki



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Backstory, Enthusiastic Consent, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mildly Dubious Consent, No Spoilers, No Underage Sex, Prison, Prison Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 07:36:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7351936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nirejseki/pseuds/nirejseki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mick and Len are in prison, it's rut season for all the alphas, and Len's been acting super weird.</p>
<p>Tumblr prompts for "Coldwave a/b/o" and "Mick/Len, prison made them do it."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rut Season

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still no good at A/B/O dynamics, but I also wanted to try to write something higher rated than usual. 
> 
> Totally different set of world-building rules from my last A/B/O fic because I left a lot of tropes on the table last time that I figured I should use: omegas go into heat for about a week, but only once (and typically unpredictably) during the entire season of spring; biting works as a bonding mechanism but not for life, just for that season (but it's particularly intimate and usually a precursor to marriage); omegas are not indiscriminate in their heats but rather super picky.

Mick thought it was just Len's unfamiliarity with prison life that had him acting out. It was his first time on the inside after juvie, Mick's third. But seriously, Len was nearly twenty years old, more than old enough to know better.

Maybe it was the fact that it was springtime and all the alphas were raring to go, despite the lack of omegas around; Mick could feel the pull of the season himself. Rut season was different in prison, with its over-representation of unbonded alphas and its lack of available mating prospects (females of all orientations were right out, of course, and the weaker betas or the occasional too-pretty alpha tend to get snatched up super quick; and omega men were rare enough that Mick's never even heard of one getting sentenced, much less seen one inside) and the way they're all squeezed in with no space. It's enough to make anyone crazy.

Len's been crazier than usual these last few weeks, though. At the start of it, when Len had first followed him into the clink looking around like a total rookie, Mick had taken one look at Len's pretty eyes and prettier mouth and started making it known that anyone who had thoughts in Len's direction ought to have them in private or they'd hear from Mick. He'd gotten enough of a rep in his first two stints inside, short as they were, that it had generally worked. Which meant that there was no reason for Len to be picking fights with all and sundry, hissing at people over the slightest perceived injury - getting cut off on the way to the yard, not getting the last meatball at lunch...hell, Mick had started betting with himself how long it would be until he pulled Len out of a brawl and Len's explanation would be "He looked at me wrong." Overkill didn't even begin to describe it.

Lens behavior is so bad Mick actually started getting sympathetic pats on the back from guys he would've sworn would shiv him in the back at the first opportunity. "He's as prickly as a ripe omega on the prowl," one of them said wistfully.

"I had a girl like that," another said dreamily. "Omega stripper. People used to pay extra for her to snap at them in the spring."

"You're kidding," Mick says, at much at the idea that any self-respecting stripper would spend time with Larry even with the inducement of cash as it was to the idea that people'd pay money to get bitched at by anything less than a pro domme.

"No, really," Larry persists. "It's how omegas used to pick mates back before everything got all civilized and crap -" By this Larry meant feminism, the pill, expanded voting rights, and virtually every iota of social progress beyond some imaginary past where alpha men hit things with clubs or maybe swords and were rewarded with a bevy of nubile and extremely grateful omegas of various sexes. Mick had repeatedly and very skeptically asked him exactly when and where this golden age had taken place, why there were so many available omegas, and why exactly Larry thought he - not a particularly great fighter in the prison yard - would be the beneficiary of such a lopsided system, but Larry tended to brush these minor concerns away in order to rail against his bugaboo of the day. "- they'd go off and flirt with all the alphas they could find, playing hard to get, bitin' and scratchin' and hissin' at all the ones they found unfit before picking the one they wanted to breed 'em - the strongest, the fastest, the best. For him, they'd turn sweet as honey."

"Uh, huh," Mick says. "And where'd you read that bit of 'historical' trivia - Penthouse?"

But several of the others, including some older lifers whose opinion Mick actually trusted, assured him that it was actually a thing omegas did in their pre-heat. Mick ended up heading to bed uncomfortable after that conversation and silently cursing Len's unflappable beta nature that wasn't nearly as moved by rut season as alphas like Mick were. At least if Len had been another alpha his brain would be running so hot with hormones that'd he'd probably go for it if Mick suggested a bit of mutual assistance, another hand to knot instead of your own, but as far as Mick could tell Len wasn't even jerking off at night like any self-respecting man ought to. Maybe he was shy, did it in the bathroom instead...all quiet-like, hand over his mouth to muffle the panting as his hand worked furiously...

Mick really needed to stop thinking of Len while he got himself off. Really. It was becoming a bad habit.

...he'll start on that tomorrow.

It got worse once the conjugals started; the usual bouts of jealousy at guys lucky enough to have mates on the outside that were willing to come visit getting infinitely more vicious and bitter as guys came back from the back rooms still stinking of sex and come and (rarely) the barest hints of omega. Guys with omega mates auctioned off their used shirts to shameless and rampant bidding, pulling in cigarettes and magazines and even occasional favors from a prison guard who was hard up.

Guys who had pretty things of their own strutted around, posturing like peacocks to impress them and show them off, and also armed up to defend them from any alpha fool enough to think they could take them. The pecking order in prison was pretty well established, but every rut season there were a few alphas so amped up with hormones that they'd give it a try. The ensuing violence just got the rest of them running even hotter.

Nothing like fighting for a mate to get your blood pumping.

And Len just gets bitchier. He even turns his nose up at a pretty epic beat down that gets done for Twister's benefit. Given that rumor has it that the guy gets the nickname either for his flexibility or a thing he can do with his tongue, it's a hell of a fight. Mick loves it, loves the savagery of it, loves how even the alpha guards get sucked in until the beta guards notice that it's not getting broken up and come over. The guards are pretending they don't know what this is about, because to admit sex is happening in prison is to have to try to stop it, but they're as good for a violent romp as the next alpha over. It's rut season.

Mick goes back to his cell early, all hyped up, blood hot, all sweaty from the pleasant exertion - the fight unsurprisingly spread beyond the original challengers, especially once the guards got involved - and when he gets there, Len (who'd flounced off earlier) looks up at him from where he's reading his book and smiles.

Actually smiles, which is a first these last few weeks.

"Good fight?" he asks.

"Yeah," Mick replies, grinning helplessly back. He grabs a towel and scrubs at the back of his neck to clean up the sweat. "Kicked some ass, you know how it is."

"Oh?" Len asks, oddly intent on Mick. "Anyone I know?"

Mick lists off a few names, mostly people he'd seen Len getting pissy at the last few days. With all the fighting this year - and it feels like there's more than usual, and extra vicious too - Mick figured it wouldn't hurt to cement his claim on Len before anyone thinks of trying anything.

Len looks pleased by the names; he puts down his book and slithers out of his bed (Mick carefully saves the memory for later referral). "I grabbed you some food from the cafeteria," Len says off-handedly and tosses him a roll with some meat shoved in it. A sad sight, but Mick's not complaining; rolls are better than the sloppy mess they usually get.

Len's moved to sit on Mick's bed and he's got the strangest expression on his face - dreamy, almost.

"What's up?" Mick asks, only half interested. If Len had been anyone else he'd be asking where they scored the hit, but Len's pretty strictly no drugs harder than alcohol.

Len snaps out of his daze, shaking his head. "Nothing," he replies. "Something smells good, s'all." He vacated the bed in favor of Mick, who plops down and takes a long sniff. Nothing unusual; his sweat and come, because a man's got needs and no one's saying a word in a place this small - but no, there's something faint, the barest hint of something sweeter, right where Len was. Huh.

Mick mentally shrugs it off. After a fight like that, the whole block will be put in lockdown all day tomorrow. He'll have time to do the laundry and ask Len what's crawled up his ass recently, now that he seems to have eased up a bit.

He wakes in the middle of the night, hard and wanting. Christ, he'd never had a dream so vivid; he can smell the omega he was driving into even now, warm and wet and -

"Mick..? You awake?" A whisper drifts down from Len's bunk.

Len sounds strange, his voice all choked up.

Mick looks down at his aching cock, tenting the covers and begging for attention, and sighs. The things he does for Len...

"Yeah, buddy, I'm up. What's going on?"

"I feel weird," Len whispers back. "Can I come down? Smells better there."

"Sure," Mick says on instinct, but then he inhales, and hell yeah his bed smells good. Fuck, if he didn't know better, he'd say it smells like -

Len slips down from his bunk and instead of huddling in next to Mick, he clambers right on top of him, looking down at him before leaning forward and taking a long, deep breath and relaxing.

Omega. It smells like omega.

Mick very carefully reaches up and cradles Len's head, pulling it all unresisting to the side and sniffing at the crook there where the scent's strongest. Definitely omega. Mick's experience with that orientation has been exclusively through hookers, but it's unmistakable. But how? Len's nineteen, well past the typical age of presentation; and he's been smelling like a muted beta neutral. Even late bloomers usually present by sixteen.

Not all late bloomers, though, now that Mick thinks of it. He remembers reading a news article once, about why pregnant people shouldn't drink a lot and why it's important to feed your kids right when they're young. Late onset presentation, they called it; occurs mostly in families with addicts and malnutrition and abuse. Mick's fingers trace familiar scars on Len's collarbone; that certainly matches up with everything Len's let slip, between his fucker of a dad or his crazy person of a mom.

Christ, Len's presenting. Len's presenting omega. _Len's an omega._

No wonder the alpha fights are so bad this year; subconsciously, they sensed Len's presence and have reacted accordingly: fights to prove their worth, aggressive peacocking, filling the air with their scent. And Len's been judging them, just like the others were saying he was. Judging them and finding them wanting. But with Mick last night, he was sweet as honey: complimented his physical prowess, brought him food, or close enough. Crawled into his bed. Picked him and found him and only him worthy. Mick's cock twitches at the thought.

"You smell nice," Len slurs into Mick's neck.

Mick's got his arms full of sweet, cuddling omega, fresh and warm and right on the cusp of heat; his hips jerk up a bit helplessly and Len fucking purrs at him. "Len," he whispers harshly. "Jesus, Len. Did you know?"

"Know what?" Len says, grumpy at being questioned as always. Good to know heat didn't change his personality problems. "M'hot, s'all. And you smell real nice."

"You're not just hot, Len," Mick says, trying to control himself and mostly failing, running his hands lightly down Len's back and sides and hips. "You're in the early stages of heat. You're presenting omega."

Mick's having a hard time focusing; Len's right there, straddling him, rubbing back down against Mick in slow, lazy grinds of his hips. But this is important. They need to talk about this.

"Okay," Len says disinterestedly. "So what?"

Well, if Len didn't care, then Mick sure didn't. He flipped them both over, quick as a wink and started pushing aside Len's prison coveralls, eager to get hands on skin. Len moans assent, hissing when Mick slides his thumbs over his nipples.

"Like that, huh?" Mick growled, low and deep in his voice. Len's clearly highly sensitized, squirming under Mick's hands like he can't decide if he wants to arch up or to wiggle away, making these gorgeous little moans that he can't seem to help. Pretty little omega, right where Mick wants him, right where Mick can force open those legs and sink inside, right where Len's hot for him, where he can knot him and come and come and come until Len's marked as his, inside and out, so that everyone knows who he belongs to -

Someone whistles at them from across the way, long and lazy and perfunctory, before there are angry mutters and whoever it is goes back to sleep.

Mick freezes. Still half in dreamworld and high on Len's tantalizing new scent, he'd forgotten for a moment where they were. Shit, it's rut season and they've been fighting over alphas and betas when a good portion of the prison population was wired to prefer omegas; the second anyone finds out about Len, an unbonded, unmated omega, it won't be a random challenge or two to show dominance and to demonstrate prowess. They'll all come for him, big and small and crazed to a man; they won't use their influence or power, they'll just fight for him, grab at him, force him into the dirt in the yard and have him there, out in public, use him one after the other, until he's fat and round with someone's kids. And even then they won't be able to keep their hands off of him, the rapists, the murderers, the thieves.

Mick's gotta do something.

"Miiiiick," Len whines beneath him, arching his hips up purposefully. "C'mon, why're you stopping? I wanna get laid." He punctuates this last with wrapping his legs around Mick's hips and rolling his hips in just the right way to make Mick see stars.

"Lenny," Mick says helplessly. This is all he's ever wanted, even back when he'd thought Len was a beta, but sex isn't going to be enough to cut it. They're in lockdown, thankfully, which means no yard and no guards and all day to treat him tight, but if Mick wants to keep Len safe he's going to have to claim him for this heat season, bond him, mate him, bite mark to the neck and all like they used to do before exchanging rings first got popular. "Lenny, I want to have you," he says, tongue thick in his mouth. "Will you let me, Lenny? Will you?"

"Now you're getting the picture," Len purrs, wrapping his arms around Mick's shoulders. "Don't think I've ever been this hot to go before..."

"Not just getting laid," Mick says desperately, hips involuntarily grinding down, seeking pressure. "Now and for always, Lenny. Let me have you. I wanna snap you up and say you're my own." He could say something about the dangers of prison, the need to save Len, had been planning on explaining but suddenly, wildly, he doesn't want to. He wants Len to accept his suit as is, not just for a claiming mark to keep him safe this season but always, like he said. Asking an omega on the edge of heat's cheating, of course, but Len's still mostly clearheaded - they haven't even kissed yet - and anyway they can discuss the details of it later, when Lenny's back in his right mind.

Len's eyes have gone dark with more than just lust, a thousand insecurities screaming out of his past - Mick knows the feeling. "You mean that?" He says, voice suddenly small. "You're not just putting me on? You don't gotta, you know; I'm a sure thing already."

"Jesus, Lenny, I've wanted you since it was illegal," Mick says honestly. "Just didn't think I had a shot."

Len lets out a long breath of air. "Ditto," he says with a wry grin. "More fools we." His smile grows wicked, a comforting and familiar sight. "So what're we waiting for?"

Mick swore and jumped up out of the cramped little bunk bed, snatching a spare sheet and clumsily hanging it up for a bit of privacy. Everybody's going to know what they're doing anyway, but if Mick can’t give Len the proper courting he wants to - the only ring he's got to give him is the crappy steel pinky ring he lifted after that first heist and which Len's kept for nostalgia purposes, and even that's sitting in admin to be picked up after their sentences end - he's at least going to give them the illusion of being on their own.

When he turns back, Len's got his pants jammed halfway down his thighs and his hand wrapped around his cock like he'd started to get naked and just got distracted halfway through, watching Mick with a hungry look.

Mick peels off his own clothing as quick as he can and climbs back into the bed. Len's no virgin, at least; Mick doesn't need to worry about that, but that doesn't mean Mick's not going to make this as good as he can in his current state of near painful arousal. He mouths at Len's neck, his collarbone, before leaning up and kissing him soundly. Len makes a muffled noise of surprise before abruptly melting into Mick, hands reaching up to grab him like he's worried that Mick's going to leave him wanting.

Hah, like there's any chance of that.

Mick's had sex ed; he knows that the hormones released into an alpha's saliva can trigger a pre-heat omega into the full-fledged iteration, but he's never felt it before, that almost visible click that has Len's eyes going wide and wild, the way his scent just pours out, and Jesus, Mick never bothered to pay the absurd amounts charged to get with an omega hooker for their heat week but he's suddenly seeing why people do.

Len's so hot, his skin flushed red; he grabs at Mick like there's a fire burning his bones and Mick's the only one who can help him. Mick can do that. Fire's kinda his thing.

They fool around a bit, kissing and stroking, Mick taking the opportunity to explore every unexplained scar he's gotten a glimpse of in the showers and to study the ones he hasn't seen. He's driving Len nuts, he knows that, because Len's stopped even begging to get to the main event, stopped talking entirely, reduced to a panting, whining heap, shuddering with pleasure.

Mick can distantly hear the rest of the prison start to wake up, can hear their shouts and cries as they smell what he's got here locked away with him. Anyone who has a relationship with their cellie turns to them to burn off the need; those that don't either start one, then and there, or retreat to their beds alone and wanting. They all want what Mick's got, but they don't get to have it.

Len's dripping by the time Mick slides a finger in. "Fucking finally," he gasps out, because he's a smartass, so Mick gives him another finger, crooking them until Len's eyebrows jump up with pleased surprise and he starts mewling Mick's name in a very satisfactory manner.

When Mick finally pushes in, Len's already come once or twice; he's limp and sated and relaxed and it's perfect. Mick's tolerance and patience are beyond their breaking point - he only lasted this long because of Len's insanity-compelling scent and his stupid alpha instincts that drive him to try to impress well beyond his usual limits - and he maybe goes a little crazy now that he's inside, but Len seems to like Mick's rough manhandling of him, how he pulls him into the right position like a doll and thrusts in, though he still tries to be as considerate as he can. The next however-long is something of a blur of pleasure - Len riding him and kissing him, Mick driving him into the mattress as Len cries out his name and urges him on - and then his knot thickens inside and he spurts his first release, hands clenching on Len's hips, grinding himself in as he grows too large to thrust.

Len lets out this long satisfied sigh, eyes rolling up a bit in his head, and he shakes and comes again, clenching tight and hot around Mick until Mick's coming again too, filling him up. "Mine," Mick whispers in his ear, low and sweet and voice wrecked, and kisses Len's neck lightly before biting down hard right over the bonding gland. Len gives a sudden shout and then he's coming again, almost painfully close to the last time, hips trying to buck up into the air but caught tight between the knot and Mick's bruising grip on his hipbones.

They're tied for twenty minutes, slowly coming down from the initial highs. Mick can't seem to stop nuzzling at the mark on Len's neck, which has darkened into a glorious bruise that will linger the whole week till Len’s heat fades.

Len looks sated, like a cat who's been petted in just the right way. Mick snickers at the thought.

Len cracks an eyelid open and slants a look at him. "You're thinking something dirty," he guesses.

"A pun, just for you," Mick says cheerfully.

Len snickers and stretches in a way that would have Mick twitching if he hadn't just come his brains out. "So, it's lockdown," he drawls. "We're stuck in here with no place to go until tomorrow at the earliest. Wanna nap then go again?"

"You're going to kill me," Mick says. "And I'm gonna die happy."

Len shrugs and yawns pointedly, still looking generally pleased by life. Mick shrugs and follows Len's example, as he always does.

They get two blissful days in lockdown without interruption, the guards that bring their food dazed and confused by Len and more than happy to trade silence for a peek inside their sheet. The other prisoners are nearly rioting with denial - the first time the doors open after lockdown, a giant brawl breaks out. Mick guards their door and growls any intruders away from their makeshift nest.

The trouble continues until the beta guards wise up to what's the problem and lock everyone else away, dragging the two of them and shoving them into the showers till they're decent. Then they separate them (Len all soapy and wet and glistening - they couldn't really expect Mick to resist that, and Len was in the full throes of heat by that point, ready and raring to go before Mick's even finished coming down from the last round) and drag them to the warden's office.

There's a nurse there that pulls Len aside and checks him over, careful to keep him in Mick's line of sight - heats are serious business, and there are court cases establishing the right of a mating couple not to be separated unless one of the pair requests it. They do ask Len if he'd be more comfortable without Mick there, but he laughs in their faces.

Eventually, the checkup is done. "First presentation," the nurse reports. "Definite case of late onset syndrome; he's got all the marks of an adolescent much younger than he is. It's going to be a rough adjustment for you," she tells Len, "as you're going to get all the symptoms of presentation over a few weeks instead of months as your body tries to catch up to where it's supposed to be. Cramps, muscle aches, and mood swings are to be expected, but let me know if you start not being able to keep down food. But other than that, you're perfectly healthy; I don't see any sign that you'll suffer any long term effects from the delay."

"Other than improper socialization as a beta," the warden remarks.

The nurse pins him with a nasty look. "I hardly think avoiding the crushing societal pressure that gets heaped on omegas for a few extra years is a problem," she sniffs. "If Mr. Snart wishes to adopt the mannerisms society has deemed traditional for his orientation, that's his choice."

The warden grunts, clearly disagreeing; he was probably one of those traditional family conservatives who thought there was a place for each gender and each orientation.

Len shifts a bit in his seat. "As delightful as being argued about as if I'm not here is," he drawls. "I'm having a bit of an issue here - sooner we can finish this powwow and me n'Mick can get back to business the better."

The others in the room are unmoved by Len's crudity. "Your business, as you call it, is starting a riot in my cell block," the warden says. "We're putting the two of you in solitary - yes," he adds as they start to protest, "you'll go in together; we're not going to separate you now. But I want to make sure you understand the ramifications here."

"Ramifications?" Mick asks, brain already halfway out of the room and thinking of positions they could try with a bit more space.

"I assume that Mr. Snart," the warden says dryly, "being as this is his first and very unexpected heat, is not currently on contraceptives."

Mick and Len both twitch. Half of Mick's brain is ringing alarm bells (he's not fit to be a father!), but the other half, swamped in rut hormones and lust, is preening at the thought of Len swollen with his kid. Their kid. 

"I'm going to give Mr. Snart a shot now," the nurse says. "We'll hope for the best."

"Indeed," the warden says, shaking his head. "Though what the best is remains unclear. If Mr. Snart does get in a family way, he is very likely to be paroled early, which will solve our problem. If not, we'll worry about the trouble of having an omega in the prison. I see it's no use to talk to either of you right now; take them below and we'll discuss this again in...six days?"

"Five," the nurse says with a sigh. "Assuming a normal seven-day run of heat. It may last longer."

As soon as they're left in the solitary room alone, they look at each other warily.

"It's not easy out there for an omega," Mick says. "Lots of prejudice and preconceptions, like that warden. There's concealing scents and all that stuff, if you don't want people to know about it."

"Except everyone currently in this prison," Len points out.

Mick winces. "Still, we can try," he says stiffly. The offer hurts to make; like any proud alpha, Mick wants nothing more than to show off his new mate, to put a ring on his finger and to laugh at all those who envy him. But Len's the boss; he's the one with the plans, and if he thinks the risk of having their crew ignore or harass him because of his orientation is too much, Mick'll back his play and pretend Len isn't his, and he's not Len's.

Len hums a little. "Lots of benefits to being an omega, too," he observes casually. "Being underestimated never hurts."

"You mean that?" Mick says hopefully.

"I'm not much for hiding who I am," Len says. "I'll think it over more later. You know, when I can actually _think_. Now get your ass over here and fuck me; I'm about to die of heat."

Mick tackles him into the bed, laughing. "Only ring I've got is that stupid pinky ring down in lock up," he tells Len, who blushes for the first time in the whole proceedings. "But I figure it'll do in a pinch - we don't got long left, a few months, and then when we get out, we can go down to the courthouse. Lisa can be the witness; she'd like that..."

Mick doesn't actually have any real plans - Len's the planner - but he's loving the way Len's gotten all choked up about it. It's even odds if Len's dad ever bothered to marry his mom, and Mick's willing to bet Len's never thought anyone'd be willing to stand before a judge to pledge troth to him, but Mick would be honored and he’s gonna beat that into Len’s head if it’s the last thing he does. 

"Don't say shit you don't mean," Len unsurprisingly protests. "We haven't even been together three days; it's too early to talk about getting hitched."

Mick kisses the bite mark on Len's neck. "You idiot," he says fondly. "We've been _together_ for five years now; it's just taken us a while to get our act together and figure out how we fit best, that's all."

Len shudders happily beneath him. "I can work with that," he says.


End file.
